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<title>Passing Bye by Emediation</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26878999">Passing Bye</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emediation/pseuds/Emediation'>Emediation</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:20:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,530</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26878999</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emediation/pseuds/Emediation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Passing Bye</h2></a>
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    <p>Fred looked at his brother again. A perfect portrait of grief unresolved, sitting stooped and still. His tattered robes hung on his frail frame like sheets on a clothesline. His face gaunt and shadowed by his past, Fred assumed. By their past. Inexorably intertwined they were, and it looks as if George had forgotten that bit. Had he abandoned is brother so easily before? Never, in George’s memory had Fred so easily been discouraged. It had only been 5 years, or so. Or was it 10 years... 15... 20? Time lacked thickness here, after death.  </p><p>He lingered near his brother, melding from shadow to shadow, a formless remnant of his former self. Since the Battle of Hogwarts, he had been trying to leave for the afterlife. He had been seeking the passage from this purgatory on to the next adventure that awaited him. He was no longer morose, as George was. No longer remorseful of the quickness of his passing. He was truly at peace with the patterns of his life and was ready. Why was he stuck? And why was he stuck near his brother. No matter where he flew, as non-corporeal beings do, he would always end up beside him. Always within a touch but forbidden to do so. He longed to hug his brother not for his own desire but to relieve his brother of what haunts him. It was heartbreaking to Fred. His companion, his brother, his partner in crime was a distraught hollowed out semblance of the man he was.  </p><p>The park in which George sat was being enveloped in the evening anhedonia. Gloom settling on the houses around him like a heavy cape on the shoulders of a weary king. The sky lacking any definable color except for the tint of mist beginning to rise. Sounds of the night echoed through the empty streets and fell on ears unwilling to hear them. George would never have noticed the shift except for the bite of cold on his ears. A low inaudible hum permeated his corpse. Not yet, still his body, he had to remind himself. Not yet dead: George’s mantra as of late. How he longed for his brothers' company. He seemed lost in a maze of memories that don’t exist yet, pretending to have lived his life with his brother. What had he accomplished since that night at Hogwarts? Less than nothing, he had stumbled backwards through the fabric of reality into a nightmare of his own making. The grief was only the beginning. The depression that followed him like his shadow. Unrelenting and existing only in comparison to the light. The light of the lives that surrounded him. His family and friends long since grown impatient with his attachment to his own downward spiral. If only Fred were near, if only they could share space one more time, he could tell him how he was now only a fraction of what he once was. </p><p>He began to shamble towards the Weasley house, somewhere beyond these muggle towns. Magic-less he was forced to use his own two feet. One after the other. Step. Step. Step. The night crept up around his neck and he felt the chill reach into him and squeeze. There would be nothing left of him once his journey was done, but that was almost the point. Bargaining had long lost its appeal. He knew his fate in this half-reality. His brother, free as life itself, he envied. Wishing he could share his sorrow with him who’d would make him laugh. He would have probably thrown him extendable ear but fart in the other end. The wind howled at the emptiness of this joke. </p><p>Thickening mists were not uncommon for this area and this time. George hardly noticed, yet Fred trailing inconspicuously, would have noticed were their positions switched. He wondered often at that possibility. How different would things be, were they switched. Were George the older one, the taller one, the funnier one... the dead one? He wished he could communicate his constant epiphanies to his brother. Any attempts so far had been met with a reliable whiff of disappointment. He summoned the last drops of power around him and tried again. George, brother dear, please hear me and let go. </p><p>The wind was a howl. Mists and clouds and the debris of the streets whipped up and down, left and right across George’s face. Memories of scorned lovers perforated his thoughts, as if they were important. As if they had any place to ask for as much attention as they deserved. Only one memory belongs to him, and that was his brother which he would not allow to be besmirched by the witches of his past. He hung to his brother like a swimmer to a buoy in a fierce storm. As fierce as the storm that brewed above him. His robes whipped about his legs, snapping at their length. He bent further struggling against the onslaught. Pushing through, forever stepping yet he felt he was losing his ground. Losing the ground all around him, the mist was so thick. The wind whipped, but the mist stuck to him, enveloping him. Swirling around, funnelling up, the street below him fading from view. Racing heart and wide eyes, what was this sorcery that tormented him?!  </p><p>George shook and struggled but the clouds had him at last. Ascending at speed further and further from the place he stood only a moment ago. Surrounded by white clouds and mists on all sides he rose as if caught in an avalanche, rising yet buried. His whole body resisted with what strength he had. His whole mind a flash of confusion and concern. Relief, it seemed, was at hand.  </p><p>Relief from the years of insectile ruminations plaguing the dark recesses of George’s mind. Disappointment and the guilt of allowing the disappointment to dominate. The undefeatable urge to join his brother pressing on his subconscious like an unwelcome guest. How had he managed so far? He cannot even remember the last time he saw white when he looked up. Had he really allowed himself to fall this far? The rising tempest relieved him for now, but as most things, he expected nothing but the eventual fall. Fred had always been there to lift him up again, had always been the one to suggest a brighter future, regardless of the current instance of torment. What would Fred really think of his deprecated self-worth. He wouldn’t allow it, of course. He would never have allowed him to sink so far. And yet, is he not now providing the rise as he once did? This magic of wind personifying his brother's constant spirits. Fred was always the wind at his back, and now he was being lifted by a wind once more. It cannot be a coincidence. It cannot be mere weather patterns and tunnels of wind that allow him his revelry. Fred is with him. He no more doubts about that. He saw him, his face, his spirit, his body in the clouds surrounding him. Fred! He cried out. I hear you brother! I listen, I know now you are and always be with me! The sun breaking from its clay prison as smashed by a hammer of love. By the hammer of togetherness that could never be so simply eradicated. The consequential entanglement of their existences would never cease, unless forgotten. He had been close, but he remembered now, and he saw. </p><p>George was running. Through a field, grasses swirling, over a stream. Through the forests and as he crested the rise, he saw the Weasley house once more. Oh, the joy he would share with the rest of them. Fred was not gone. Fred was here! Fred was with him and Fred WAS him! They had to know, and they had to feel his surety. They would rejoice, for he was now complete once more, they would praise their favourite twins return like a homecoming of no other. This was the moment they had all been waiting for and he was the one to deliver this jubilation.  </p><p>He burst through the front door. Fred! Fred is alive! He shouted, gasping for breath.  </p><p>People began to gather in the halls. His family, as he had known them, seemed to be strangers now standing there. Fred is alive! He repeated </p><p>No one moved, no one said anything. What are you doing! Did you not hear me? I saw him! He was the clouds; he was the wind at my back, and I am home now!  </p><p>Silent concern seeped from the full hallway. He could contain his relief no longer and wept. A blanket was placed around him. A familiar hand on his shoulder, caring but distant. A whispered word, a telephone call. Bustling that existed around but excluded him. I saw him, he continually muttered as if he was now convincing himself. </p><p>“I’m very sorry, Mr. Weasley, there was a power outage due to the storm and he had been so good lately that he was in a low security area when it happened. We are making a full report, it won’t happen again. Sincerest apologies.”</p>
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